


who wants to live forever?

by onetrueobligation



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mercy Killing, Sort Of, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 15:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19112539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: crowley sees only one way out.





	who wants to live forever?

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags!!
> 
> this is my second contribution to this fandom in as many days and frankly im not sorry at all. enjoy your suffering!

Hell was going to kill him.

Well, not exactly. Hell couldn’t _kill_ him – no one could. In fact, it could be argued that what hell _could_ do to him was much, much worse than death. For the first time, Crowley found himself wishing he were mortal.

What was it Lord Beelzebub had said – that by the time the demons of hell were through with him, he’d wish he were mortal? Well, he thought bitterly, perhaps Lord Beelzebub had been right about something for once.

‘Angel,’ he said into the hands-free mic sitting on the dashboard as he drove. ‘I fucked up.’

Despite his remarkably grim situation, Crowley found that the sound of Aziraphale’s voice still managed to soothe his nerves. ‘Still using that colourful language we picked up, hmm?’ he said mildly, and Crowley could tell he was distracted. Perhaps he was examining the yellowed pages of some first edition book he’d just stumbled across in a hidden corner of his bookstore. The thought almost made Crowley smile.

‘I’m serious,’ he said, the anxiety rising in his stomach again. He’d forgotten to breathe several minutes earlier. ‘I’ll meet you at the bookstore in—twenty minutes or so.’ That was a bit ambitious, and several speed limits would need to be broken, but for Crowley, that was nothing new. ‘And—And make sure you have holy water with you.’

That seemed to catch Aziraphale’s attention. This time, Crowley could sense a hint of worry in his voice. ‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale said. ‘Crowley, what—what’s going on, dear boy?’

Crowley gritted his teeth, then hung up on him.

 

Aziraphale didn’t like the sound of this at all. On the telephone, Crowley had sounded unusually miserable, and the fact that he was asking for holy water –

Well. Aziraphale was more than a little worried. Still, he always had plenty of the stuff on hand, safely hidden away in a cabinet. (Before, when he had it lying around in the open, Crowley would hiss like a snake and refuse to go within ten feet of it.)

He’d find out what Crowley needed it for, first. Then, if by some miracle he didn’t want it for a completely ridiculous reason, he’d give it to him.

Sure enough, within twenty minutes, the sound of tyres screeching on concrete outside the shop alerted Aziraphale to Crowley’s arrival. A moment later, the door was shoved open with a _bang_ so loud Aziraphale winced.

‘Angel?’ Crowley called, and the note of desperation in his voice only frightened Aziraphale more.

‘Crowley,’ he said, standing to greet him with a nervous smile. ‘Why don’t you sit down, have a drink…?’

‘No time,’ Crowley said urgently, though technically he had all the time in the world. ‘Listen, do you have the holy water?’

Aziraphale held up a hand. ‘Ah, ah, ah, Crowley. You expect me to just hand it over without knowing what it’s for?’

Crowley looked conflicted. ‘Look, I can—I can explain later, I just—I _need_ that holy water, Aziraphale--!’

Aziraphale folded his arms across his chest, and Crowley slumped. He may have been a demon, but even he knew when to give in.

‘Actually,’ Crowley said, his voice hoarse, ‘I think I will have that drink.’

 

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it! He should have expected Aziraphale to need some sort of reason. It was Aziraphale, after all. Righteous, noble Aziraphale.

Righteous and noble were just about the last things Crowley needed right now.

He was slouched on Aziraphale’s couch, sipping a glass of wine. It was actually his third – or possibly his fourth – and he still hadn’t told Aziraphale what he needed the holy water for. The words just wouldn’t leave his mouth. It wasn’t just the fact that, for a start, if Aziraphale knew he’d most certainly never hand it over. It was also the fact that if Aziraphale knew, he’d try to talk him out of it. He’d try to tell him there was another way, there was hope, there was something to be done. And Crowley knew he’d believe him. And there was nothing Crowley hated more than false hope.

But Aziraphale wouldn’t budge, and as his system was flooded with more alcohol, Crowley was only finding it more and more difficult to convince him.

Apparently, Aziraphale was getting frustrated with his increasing state of drunkenness, because he made a half-hearted flourish with one hand and Crowley could physically feel the alcohol leaving his veins.

‘That wasn’t polite,’ he mumbled.

Aziraphale was still unimpressed. ‘Crowley,’ he sighed. ‘Tell me what the problem is. Please. Let me help you.’

Crowley made a point of avoiding his eyes. Aziraphale had to find out one way or another.

‘Hell’s after me,’ he muttered, his voice low. ‘They’ve come to a decision, I suppose. After all that business with the antichrist.’

‘And?’ Aziraphale prompted, clearly not liking where the conversation was going.

‘And they’re going to do something unpleasant,’ he finished lamely. Eliminating him would almost be merciful, and merciful was not a demon’s style. Even if they _did_ extinguish his existence, Crowley had the feeling they were going to make it as brutal and humiliating as possible, and if he had to go, he didn’t want it to happen like that.

‘You mean they’re going to put you on trial again,’ Aziraphale said slowly, and then Crowley saw that glint of hope in his eye that he’d been trying so desperately to avoid. ‘Crowley, that—I don’t see why you need holy water for that. We—We can do what we did before. We can swap bodies again, or—or something else, we’ve gotten out of worse things than this—’

‘It’s different this time,’ Crowley snapped, unable to help himself. There was the hint of a _hiss_ in his tone, and he hated himself for the way his angel visibly recoiled.

Aziraphale fell silent, and for a moment it felt like that silence was going to swallow Crowley whole. He almost hoped it would.

‘How—How is it different?’ Aziraphale finally said, voice small. ‘Crowley?’

Crowley scowled. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. Aziraphale was supposed to just give him the holy water without asking questions and that would be that. But no. Now he had to go telling Aziraphale the truth, and making himself achingly vulnerable in the process.

‘They’re threatening you this time,’ he mumbled.

 

Aziraphale blinked. There were several things to infer from that statement, and none of them were good.

The first was the fact that Crowley had been so reluctant to tell him in the first place. It was almost as though he was ashamed of it, and that made Aziraphale’s stomach twist in a way he couldn’t explain.

The second conclusion he came to was that it meant Crowley cared. This was a startling realisation. The idea that Crowley cared about him was—Well. It was absurd. Of course, Aziraphale would gladly do the same for him in an instant, but that was different. Aziraphale was an angel. He was _supposed_ to care about his friends. But Crowley was a demon. The thought of Crowley sacrificing his freedom for him – Aziraphale didn’t know what to think.

The third and final conclusion Aziraphale came to was that Crowley had already made up his mind about this. It was easy to tell from the note of finality, however small, in his voice. That scared Aziraphale more than anything. He knew Crowley better than anyone, and he knew Crowley would do anything at all to get what he wanted. What he’d never realised was that he was perhaps the one thing in all of creation that could be used against Crowley.

And what was worse, that meant there was only one reason Crowley was asking for holy water.

‘Absolutely not.’

 

Crowley was really beginning to wish he’d never brought it up in the first place. Still, it wasn’t as though he’d had much of a choice. He really, _really_ didn’t want to be dragged down to hell to be tortured or burned up or locked away for all eternity. He also didn’t want anything to happen to Aziraphale, either. This really was his only option.

‘Look,’ he began, holding up his hands. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Crowley, you’re a complete idiot and I’d never agree to help you in a million years.”’

That was, in fact, fairly accurate.

‘But you said that about the doomsday plan, too. And look how that turned out, hmm?’

‘With Satan himself emerging from the pit and almost destroying all of humanity because you lost the antichrist?’

Crowley flushed. ‘Well, it doesn’t sound as impressive when you put it like that,’ he mumbled. ‘Anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is that--- that you should hear me out.’

Aziraphale folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, but he was listening. That was the most Crowley could ask for.

‘Listen,’ Crowley said carefully, holding up his hands. ‘I’ve given this a lot of thought, alright? I haven’t completely lost my mind. Promise. Just listen. Hastur will be here any minute to drag me back down to hell. And yes, yes, yes, I know – I know he’s stupid, I know I’ve escaped him before, but he’s also dangerous. And I don’t like to think of what he’d do to you if I did manage to get away from him.’ He very nearly shuddered. ‘And I hate to be a downer, but it’s only a matter of time before your lot do the same to you. But—’ He swallowed thickly, talking over Aziraphale before he could protest. ‘But this way, it fixes everything for both of us. I don’t have to spent my last few moments with _them_ , and your lot don’t have anything to hold over you to convince you to go quietly.’

There were a few moments of stunned silence.

‘Not,’ Crowley added sheepishly, with a rather distasteful and forced laugh, ‘that I’d expect you to mind what they did to me, anyway.’

 

It was an awful plan. It was one of the worst plans Aziraphale had ever heard – quite possibly the worst of all, in fact. And yet Crowley seemed so determined, and Aziraphale had no idea what to say to change his mind.

Miserable, he took a seat beside him and stared at the wall.

‘You know full well I’d mind what they’d do to you very much,’ he said, and he sounded close to crying.

Crowley put an arm around his shoulders, his voice falsely cheery. ‘Excellent, then. All the more reason to hand the holy water over and get this all out of the way, then.’

When Aziraphale turned to look at him, he saw someone he’d never seen before. He was smiling, but his face was ashen, and Aziraphale could just see his lower lip trembling.

It occurred to Aziraphale that in six thousand years, he’d never seen Crowley cry.

‘I can’t let you do this,’ Aziraphale said, voice choked. ‘Crowley, I—You know it would kill me. I could never—I couldn’t help you. I just—I just couldn’t.’ Surely even a demon would understand that.

Crowley groaned and leaned back. ‘Aziraphale--! Look. Think of it as a kindness. I’m going to be destroyed anyway – either that or they do something worse to me,’ he added darkly. ‘All I want is to get drunk out of my brain and make it quick. And… And it’d mean a lot to me if I could have my best friend with me, too.’

Aziraphale would never forgive himself. He’d hate himself for all eternity. He wouldn’t be able to go on without Crowley, not properly.

But did he really have any other choice?

Shakily, he got to his feet without saying a word.

 

It was one thing to _picture_ himself being obliterated. It was a completely different thing to see Aziraphale carrying a crystal jar of holy water in his hands and setting it down on the coffee table.

‘So this is it, then,’ Crowley said, with a nervous laugh that sounded pathetic to his own ears.

‘Crowley, please think about what you’re doing,’ Aziraphale begged. ‘You can’t leave me on my own. It’d break me, it’d kill me, I can’t—’

‘Aziraphale.’ Crowley’s smile had vanished, and he was holding up a hand. ‘I don’t have a choice. They’d take me away whether I wanted it or not. This is just… the kindest way to say goodbye.’

Lazily, he reached for his half-full champagne flute, eyeing its contents for a moment before reaching for the jar of holy water and carefully pouring a little in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to do the job, he thought dully.

Aziraphale sat down beside him and poured a drink for himself, too.

‘Crowley,’ he said, though his mind had suddenly gone blank of everything he wanted to say. Vaguely, he registered something cold and wet sliding down his cheek, and only realised what it was when he saw something similar on Crowley’s face, too.

He reached for his hand and kissed it, pressing his lips to his knuckles as though devoting himself to an icon. Words wouldn’t do, not now. Nothing he could say would make this any easier.

Crowley was smiling again, just slightly. ‘I love you, angel,’ he murmured.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just couldn’t say it. It would feel too much like a goodbye.

‘To the world,’ he said instead, and raised his glass to him.

Crowley’s smile widened, and he clinked their glasses together. ‘To the world.’

Then he downed the glass.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really sorry.
> 
> leave kudos to make me write more dark shit like this or leave a comment yelling at me!


End file.
